


Flannel Sheets

by Nehszriah



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Nehs wrote prawns, Prompt Fic, Smut, Snowed In, space married, space-cabin antics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6523855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt: Twelve and Clara, trapped by space-weather-related shenanigans in a remote spot. Like a space cabin. In a space storm. In space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flannel Sheets

A warm fire, thick jumpers, and space-nightcaps: that was not exactly what the Doctor had promised Clara when they whizzed off towards adventure, but it _was_ what they ended up with. The TARDIS had crash-landed in a ski-nebula, where cosmic dust was the stand-in for snow, and while the Doctor had tried and tried to get the old girl going again, all she did was kick him out so she could fix herself up. Luckily they had plopped down within walking distance of a cabin that was thankfully unused.

“Here we go,” the Doctor said, carrying two steaming drinks across the main of the cabin. “Looks like the resort at least keeps good cocoa around.” He passed one to Clara and sat down next to her on the sofa, pulling the free bit of blanket over his lap. She pressed herself into his side and he draped his arm over her; sharing body heat between themselves and the drinks would be more than enough to supplement the warmth gained from the hearth.

“Ooooh, _spiked_ ,” Clara giggled, taking a sip of the cocoa. “You know… this isn’t hasn’t been a bad trip.”

“I had promised you adventure and gave you this,” he scowled, motioning with his cup-hand at the one-room cabin. “We could have done this on Earth.”

“It wouldn’t have been as special though,” she protested.

“I don’t try for ‘ _special_ ’, Clara—I try for ‘ ** _breathtaking_** ’.”

“Then take my breath away,” she smirked. She leaned up, kissing the tip of his nose, the action _daring him_ to do something.

His mouth quirking in a grin, the Doctor downed half of his cocoa and placed the mug down on the end-table. He placed Clara’s there as well and dove in for a kiss, holding her head in place as he pressed their lips together and opened his mouth, hoping she’d at least help a little. To his relief she did, slipping her tongue past his teeth and exploring his mouth, melting into the sofa as she leaned down onto her back and pulled him over her.

“Oh my,” she chuckled. “Someone is enthusiastic.”

“It’s what you want though, isn’t it?”

“It’s about more than what _I_ want, you stubborn thing.” She played with his hair—soft and not yet long enough to curl—and pressed her other hand against his back, easing him down so that their chests were touching. “What do _you_ want?”

Wordlessly, the Doctor began to plant more kisses, small and tender ones, along her throat as his hands wandered down and slipped past the hem of her skirt. He reached further and cupped her rear, which prompted her to push away.

“Bed,” she said, squirming out from under him.

“You don’t seem so insistent on using the bed most of the time…” he whined. He stood and followed her up the stairs towards the open loft that contained the bedroom. It was rustically furnished, with faux-log furniture and a bed whose mattress could fit five if one was insistent enough. All it needed to hold was the two of them though, so Clara kicked off her shoes and knelt up on the soft, warm comforter.

“The only bed in that forest was the _floor_.”

He tugged her jumper above her head and tossed it to the floor before working his hands underneath the t-shirt she was wearing—coincidentally, one of his.

“Then what about the time you insisted on stroking me off in the middle of that ship we stowed away on accidentally?”

Her fingers made quick work of his buckle and shoved his trousers towards his knees before palming the front of his pants.

“Oh, all ready and waiting, are we?” she grinned. “I can’t help but laugh that every time I even suggest something, you’re stiff as a board.”

“…and then there was the time in the console room… _on the console_ …”

“I didn’t hear you complaining then.”

“Clara, my body has tuned itself to you, remember that,” the Doctor said. He stepped away from the bed and kicked away his trousers and pants, bringing his legs up so he could not be that git who kept his socks on during lovemaking. Clara, who was fully naked, stripped the bedding back so it was only the bottom sheet on most of the mattress. She then laid down on the flannel fabric, running her arms up and down it.

“This feels so _cozy_ ,” she purred. She glanced over at the Doctor, who was standing there stark-naked, erection jutting awkwardly as he awaited instruction. Smiling, she crooked her finger. “Come to me.”

“What, I’m supposed to answer to that?”

“You said it yourself: since we first slept together, you’ve been synched to me. Don’t tell me you don’t want it as much as I do… maybe even more.”

He went red in the face, barely wanting to admit it. “I want you, Clara Oswald, and I want you to keep on wanting me.”

“…and I want _you_ ,” she said. At that, he climbed into bed and positioned himself above her, hands gently keeping her wrists at the side of her head as he continued to kiss her. He settled himself between her thighs and she wrapped her legs around him. They kissed and moaned, grinding against one another teasingly before enough was enough. Clara made enough effort to have the Doctor let go of her wrists and she reached down between them, guiding his thickened cock into her. He let out a noise, low and rumbling, as he went further and further in, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against her shoulder.

“So good,” he hissed. Clara could feel his consciousness brush up against hers—he was losing control. She rolled them over and pressed him against the mattress. _Damn_ , he looked so good under her, gasping helplessly as his respiratory bypass system shut down and he gulped for air, attempting to think and only being able to eke out a word or two, reduced down to his wiry frame and skinny muscle… he was like putty in her hands.

Carefully she sat there, not moving… simply sitting there with him between her legs. He begged her to move, rocking his hips desperately in an effort to feel _some_ friction. Soon as she began to match his rhythm he exhaled heavily. _Yes_ , this was what he needed, what they needed, and things were right with the universe. He, the Man Who Stops the Monsters, one of the most ancient and powerful beings in the universe, whose name was whispered as both a threat and an oath, was under a schoolteacher from Earth, whose time-period wasn’t even one where they’d gotten humans past their own satellites, and he would do anything for her. If time stopped and space warped, he would fix it if that was her whim. Long ago she said he was the only man left alive for her, and he took that to hearts.

Feeling the way his own desire was quickly rising, the Doctor decided to even the score. Now it was his turn to reach between them, finding that sweet sensitive spot that was already slick and swelling. He teased it gently, hearing Clara hitch her breath as he did so. They were beginning to build up together, anxious for that high point so they could fall in one another’s arms.

Suddenly, Clara sucked in a breath and shuddered, closing her eyes and whimpering as her orgasm rushed through her. She sat perfectly still while the Doctor waited patiently, enjoying the surge that enveloped her entire being. When she opened her eyes, she began to ride the Doctor hard, making him tremble and wheeze as he too came, spilling himself into her. Thank the TARDIS for effective oral prophylactics—there was no way either could give this up due to the risk of a child before they’re wanted. It was likely for that child, that hybrid of two incredible warrior races, to happen one day, though not that night; not in the midst of a space-dust storm, grounding them in a plausibly-impossible ski resort, where they might as well have been in the honeymoon cottage.

Unable to move properly, Clara allowed the Doctor to help her back down onto the mattress, after which he pulled the blankets back over them, cuddling in their soft warmth. She nuzzled her face in his sparse chest hair, humming in a satisfied, pleased tone.

“I told you this wasn’t a bad trip,” she said. “You managed to take my breath away.”

“…and you took mine,” he murmured. He kissed her hair and pulled her close. “These sheets are sweaty.”

“We just had sex—of course they are. At least we didn’t ruin satin or anything like that.”

“I’m not sure why that’s such a thing of luxury—satin is too slippery for bedsheets, isn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, Boss.”

They laid there like that until long after the fire died out in the hearth, when the embers were still warm though having ceased to glow, sleeping off their enthusiasm. Making love in deep space was tiring work, and they were more than willing to do it again when they woke up.


End file.
